His Blue Moon
by Mindy35
Summary: Elliot/Olivia, Olivia/Other. Post-ep for "Lunacy". Every man has a moon. His is Olivia Benson.


Title: His Blue Moon

Author: mindy35

Rating: K+, just a few bruises

Disclaimer: Not mine, no monies.

Spoilers: minor, "Paternity", "Lunacy".

Pairing: Elliot/Olivia, minor Olivia/Other.

Summary: Post-ep for "Lunacy". Every man has a moon. His is Olivia Benson.

A/N: Favourites are nice, a few words are better.

* * *

He's slumped on the couch in the lounge area above the squadroom which is buzzing with the news of Dick's crime. His head is tipped back on the worn cushions and a slowly melting icepack covers one side of his face. But his free eye spies his partner, still in that shimmering blue dress, heading up the stairs and toward him with a small silver bowl and a pristine white cloth.

She stops in front of him, looks down at him, head tilted to one side. "A medic's looking at Dick."

"He threw the first punch," Elliot mumbles, attempting to lift his aching head. "For the record."

Olivia says nothing. She just sits beside him and reaches for the bloody hand resting on his thigh.

His hand drifts out of her reach. "Leave it, it's nothing."

"It's me or that rookie medic with hands like meat cleavers." She dips the white cloth in the bowl of antiseptic solution. "Your choice."

Head falling back against the couch, Elliot surrenders his hand, sucking in a breath when she begins dabbing at the congealing blood and broken skin.

"You okay?" she murmurs after a moment, voice soft.

"It's just a graze. I've had worse."

"I didn't mean…I meant—" Olivia re-dunks the cloth then lifts her eyes to his face. "I know what this guy meant to you, El, I saw how you looked at him. It was like…seeing you before all this," she tosses her head at the squadroom before continuing to treat his wounded paw, "like seeing you when you were a kid."

"A dumb kid."

"_Or…_maybe just a kid who needed someone to look up to. Dick wasn't just your hero, he was an ideal, the father you didn't have."

His head lolls towards her, one eye giving her a wry, quizzical look.

Olivia responds to the look by telling him, "Trust me, I know all about searching for father figures."

Elliot nods wearily, setting the icepack aside and stretching his arm along the back of the couch. "S'that why you agreed to go out with a man twenty-six years your senior?"

She shrugs a shoulder, blue satin floating up and down with the movement. "I've always been a bit of a magnet for older guys."

"Not just older guys," he mutters, looking away.

Her eyes cut to his face. "'Scuse me?"

"My son—"

"Dickie?"

"Dick."

"Right." Olivia smiles, releasing one hand then taking the other from behind her and beginning to treat it too.

He shifts to face her on the couch. "He only makes people he wants to impress call him that."

"He's growing up."

"He's crushing on you."

She shoots him a dubious look from beneath her brows. "You've been interviewing too many teenage girls."

"No, he's always liked you. And I guess since the hormones kicked in—ow!" He snatches back his hand, looking wounded by her less than gentle touch.

"Sorry," she mutters, unrepentant.

Elliot gets the message and lets the topic drop.

"So…" Olivia scoots closer, eyes running over his face, assessing his injuries. She draws in a breath, gaze briefly colliding with his before slipping away again. Lifting the cloth to his face, she begins treating the raised red abrasions on his cheek and neck, breath puffing against his skin as she asks, "How're you going to tell him about Dick?"

"I dunno…" he answers, head wagging slowly. "I wanted to name him after someone he could admire. You know?" He clears his throat, averting his eyes in a futile effort to avoid her proximity. They're soon drawn back to her face though, mere inches from his. "I wanted both my boys…to have that…"

"Dick and Eli have you, El. You're all the role model they need." She pulls back, wets the cloth then looks him in the eye as she presses it to the gash on his brow. "If they grow up to be half the man you are then it won't matter who they're named after."

"You know…" He hesitates, aware that the background bustle of the squadroom has quietened while inside his chest, his heart is hammering against his ribcage. "After what you did for Kathy that day, for all of us, I…wanted to name Eli after you."

Olivia blinks at him, brows furrowed but lips curving upwards. "You…wanted to name your son Olivia?"

"_Benson_," he clarifies with a nervy chuckle. "Benson Stabler. Ben, maybe – for short."

She rolls her eyes, drops the stained cloth into the pink water. "Poor kid."

"At least he'd have had a namesake that wouldn't let him down. But," Elliot shrugs, gaze dropping away, "Kathy's a traditionalist, so…"

Olivia turns away, setting the bowl aside. Turning back and putting a hand to his chin, she angles his face one way then the other to make sure she hasn't overlooked any injuries. "Okay…" she sighs, rising from the couch, "you're all done." Then she leaves him slumped on the couch, heading for the stairs in her silver heels.

His voice stops her at the tip of the staircase. "Liv."

She turns, impervious expression slotting into place a second too late. "Yup?"

Elliot hesitates again, glancing down at his raw, stinging knuckles. "Do me a favor and take the interrogation for me?"

"Oh, I think Cragen will insist on it," she answers, eyes wide.

"But _change_," he adds darkly, "before you do."

She gives a resolute nod, one that tells him his former hero is in for a rough ride. "I plan to."

"And sorry about," he waves a hand, jaw clenching, "messin' up your date."

"It's hardly the first date of mine that's been messed up by this job," she tells him as she turns to the stairs, "and I doubt it'll be the last."

"When I saw you get out of that cab, I—" His voice breaks off. Not because he knows he shouldn't say the words that are hovering on the tip of his tongue but because everything hurts. His throat, his jaw. His head, his hands. His silenced, neglected heart. Nothing hurts more than looking at her in that blue dress though. Or remembering how when she appeared earlier that evening the cool night breeze made the blue satin ripple over her curves while the moonlight made her look like some sort of earth-bound goddess. "God, look at you…" Elliot does – he lets himself see her in a way he usually avoids, voice coming out scratchy and sad when he tells her, "you look incredible."

Olivia's lips part to reply then close again, pressing tightly together. She's saved from having to formulate a response by Munch calling up to her from below. She calls back, saying she'll be right down, throws one last glance in the direction of her mangled partner then heads down the stairs. She only makes it down three before his voice stops her a third time.

"Hey. Liv." He hauls himself up from the couch, wincing as he walks towards her. "Your ideal father figure," he murmurs, body hunched as he stands above her on the landing, "…what was he like?"

Olivia smiles over her shoulder, turning to descend. "Now you're just fishing."

Elliot watches her make her way down the stairs and across the squadroom floor to where Cragen, Munch and Fin are huddled by the entrance to his office. He props his elbows on the railing and watches from above. He isn't trying to overhear their conversation or guess their next move. He knows what comes next and he doesn't want any part of it. Probably because Dick's guilt reminds him a little too much of his own.

All his celebrated mentor ever wanted was to go to the moon. So much so that it drove him crazy – it drove him to murder. He can relate. More than he should. Because every man has a moon. That thing he lives for and can't let go of. His is Olivia Benson. She is what he aspires to, what drives him crazy. She's what he'd do anything for, even kill for. Like a rare blue moon, she bewitches him with her power, her beauty, her changeability. She constantly convinces him of her proximity while always remaining so far out of reach. And when he's old and grey and recalling his life, he knows that she is what he'll secretly regret, wishing that once – just _once_ – he'd gotten close enough to touch that lonely beauty, close enough to call his blue moon home.

_END._


End file.
